‘So, back in the real world, what are your plans for your thirtieth year on this beautiful planet?’ Sophie asks me as she lies back again on the grass. One of the many things I love about her is how she always brightens my day by looking ahead, discussing the possibilities of the future and finding something to plan or look forward to.

‘Well,’ I contemplate, plucking some daisies from beside me. ‘I would absolutely love to get a break away from here, you know, and I don’t mean that I want to run away from anything. I just would love a change of pace, a change of scenery.’

‘Ooh,’ says Sophie, liking my style already. ‘So what are you thinking? A city break? A week in the sun?’

‘Paris,’ I say, feeling a gnaw in the pit of my stomach for a city I’d always dreamed of going to. ‘I really want to go to Paris.’

I picture it in my head – the most romantic city in the world with its boulevards and gothic architecture filling my soul and feeding my creative senses.

‘I’d also love to start writing some songs again,’ I confess. ‘I’d love to see if I could still do it, but I’ll need to search inside myself to find the courage! But I’ve a feeling it will come back to me one day soon.’

‘Yes!’ Sophie tells me. ‘You need to be true to your soul and Jack would be behind you one hundred per cent. Don’t ever hide your talent in a box in your head, Charlotte, or wherever you’ve been storing your writing since Matthew’s accident. Get it out there. The world deserves to hear the wisdom of Charlotte Taylor, and you know it.’

In a way I believe her. I can feel the urge to write niggling at me in a way no one understands unless they write themselves. It’s like an itch waiting to be scratched, a part of you that can’t be ignored.

‘I’d love to someday show that side of me to Jack,’ I say to Sophie. ‘He honestly has no idea how much I’ve hidden a whole part of who I am for way too long now.’

It does sadden me to think that Jack doesn’t know the depth of my passion for music, and it’s by no means his fault, only mine. I’ve muted it, I suppose, unable to separate my passion for writing songs from my history and long-time thirst for Tom Farley. Jack knows I can play guitar and that I use it to entertain the little people I teach sometimes, but he will never really understand how much it runs through my veins and is bursting to get out. If only I could let it.